In at the Death

16

Caepio didn’t exactly seem delighted to see me. Not that I’d been expecting otherwise.

‘Valerius Corvinus?’ he said when I pushed past him into the living room. ‘What’re you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Sextus Papinius was murdered,’ I said. ‘And you know it.’

He went grey. ‘But that’s — ’ he began.

I stepped within grabbing range. He flinched. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘there was someone in the flat upstairs when he arrived, okay? I know that for a fact. They didn’t leave until after he was dead, and then they slipped out quietly while everyone else was rubber-necking at the body. Now put these three items together and tell me I’m jumping to unwarranted assumptions. Pal!’

‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ he whispered. ‘Holy gods alive — !’

‘Never mind that! They were there, right? So who were they?’

‘Corvinus, I swear to you — ’

The hell with this. I reached over, gripped the tunic under his throat and pulled him almost off his feet. He went rigid. ‘Papinius had a key. Maybe he took it for himself like you said, or maybe you gave it to him; the jury’s still out on that one, and it doesn’t matter anyway. What does matter is whoever went into the flat before he did had a key of their own. So where did that one come from? Maybe they borrowed your bunch of duplicates while you were standing with your eyes conveniently closed? In which case, friend, even if you didn’t do the actual killing yourself you’re well and truly screwed.’

‘Corvinus, please…’ The guy was white and shaking.

I let go of him. He pulled up a stool and sat.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Now talk.’

He swallowed and rubbed his throat. ‘I swear to you. Please! Any god you like, on my grandmother’s grave I swear it, I don’t know! I don’t know who the killer was, I don’t know where he got the key. It wasn’t mine. I was here all the time and the bunch never left my desk. Look, you’ve got to believe me! The first I knew Papinius was dead was when I saw his body in the street, and that’s the holy truth!’

He wasn’t lying, not in his state. If he hadn’t pissed his pants it was probably because his bladder was already empty. And he couldn’t’ve been the murderer: Lautia had said Papinius had been on his own, and if Caepio had decoyed him into the flat to kill him they would’ve been together. Besides, with his gammy leg he’d never have got down five sets of stairs in time to pretend he’d only come from the first floor. So scratch Caepio’s duplicate set. What did that leave us with?

‘Carsidius,’ I said.

Caepio’s head snapped up. ‘What?’

‘Your boss. The owner. He got a set of keys too?’

‘Yes, of course he’s got — ’ Then his brain must’ve caught up with his mouth because his jaw dropped open. ‘Holy gods, no! No, never! Carsidius wouldn’t…he’s got no reason to..!’

‘Okay. So you tell me, sunshine. Where did the key come from?’

‘I don’t know! It could’ve been a copy, an illegal copy, I mean. Or the killer could’ve picked the lock.’

‘Fine. So how did he get his hands on an original long enough to get the copy made, and why should he bother on the sodding off-chance that Papinius might choose to go up there some day to be murdered? And picking the lock’s out. Lau — ’ I stopped myself. ‘The person who told me said they’d heard the key used.’

‘You don’t want to believe Lautia. That little slut’s — ’

I reached out and grabbed him again; maybe harder than I’d meant, because he gave a terrified gasp. ‘Listen to me, pal,’ I said softly. ‘Listen very carefully indeed. If I find that the lady’s been hassled by you or by anyone else just because she had the decency to tell the truth then by every god in the pantheon I swear you’ll wish you’d never been born. Clear?’

‘I wouldn’t — !’

‘Then just make very, very sure you don’t. Right.’ I let him go and pulled up a spare stool. ‘So. Personally, since we’ve got a murder here, I’d say your Lucius Carsidius has just shot up into the number one suspect slot. If you’re not happy with that then you go ahead and convince me I’m wrong.’

He was the colour now of an old dishrag. He took a deep breath. ‘Corvinus, believe me, Carsidius would be the last person to kill Papinius. Or have him killed.’

‘Yeah? And why’s that?’

‘Have you ever met the man?’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘You wait until you do, then you can accuse him to his face and see what he says. He wouldn’t, in the gods’ name he wouldn’t! That’s all I’m saying.’

Bugger. He meant it, too. ‘I’ll ask you again, friend,’ I said. ‘You want to give me a why? A real one?’ But Caepio’s lips were tight shut. ‘Come on! Carsidius has the only other key!’ His eyes shifted. ‘Or has he? Caepio!’ I thought of grabbing him by the throat again, but the guy clearly wasn’t talking and there was no point to gratuitous violence. Shit; what was going on here? I took a deep breath. ‘Okay. Okay. If it wasn’t Carsidius had the boy killed then who was it? You know, you bastard, or if you don’t you can make a pretty good guess. So spill!’

The look he gave me would’ve frozen a basilisk, but behind the eyes there was pure terror.

‘I can’t,’ he whispered. ‘Jupiter, Apollo and all the gods help me but I can’t! It’s more than my life’s worth. Just leave me alone, all right?’

We stared at each other. He was breathing hard, but his jaw was clenched. Impasse. Well, short of beating the bastard to a pulp or lugging him down to the Watch-house where Mescinius would probably have me for assault and battery myself there wasn’t anything more I could do. I left him to his unfinished supper — it was laid out on the table — and let myself out.

Home.

It was dark when I left the tenement, the party was over downstairs and the street was deserted. Bugger; I should’ve thought of that: walking in Rome after dark, even in the centre, where I wasn’t, isn’t a healthy occupation, and the purple stripe didn’t help any, either. Quite the reverse. Still, it was too late for grief now.

I shouldn’t’ve ditched Placida after all. Nice timing, Corvinus.

The best way to the Caelian was to follow the western slope of the Aventine and then cut to the right through Circus Valley. Not exactly a salubrious area, any of it, and there was certainly no street lighting: you got torches at the doors of upper-class houses, sure, but not outside tenements, and tenements, in this part of Rome, was all there were. Well, I could pick up a litter or a couple of torch-boys at the junction with Public Incline.

I hefted the bag of cardoons, cursing Meton for not asking for a pound of chitterlings instead, and set out, keeping my eyes skinned for footpads. I’d given up carrying the knife strapped to my wrist years ago. That’s what age does to you.

They hit me half way to the junction, two of them, coming from behind. I was lucky: I heard the slap of their sandals on the cobbles, and I turned just as the first of them reached me. I’d just time to get the bag between me and him, chest height, before he got the stab in, and the cardoons took its whole length. I grabbed him, pulled him towards me and kneed him hard in the balls. He doubled up with a grunt. One down, or at least out of it temporarily. That only left the second…

I pulled the bag free and shoved it into his face. One thing you can say for cardoons, the buggers in their natural state are spiky as hell, and a faceful of them judiciously applied is no joke. He cursed and lashed out. The knife he was holding sliced through my tunic, cutting my upper arm. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mate stagger to his feet and come at me from the side, knife held level, swearing blue murder…

Oh, shit.

Someone shouted. The first guy stopped and looked round. Then he was reeling backwards holding his head while whoever had hit him went in to finish the job with a vicious swipe of his stick to the ribs. There was a dull thunk, and I thought I heard bones crack. The guy screamed and staggered away at a run, clutching his side.

Meanwhile, his pal was having serious problems of his own. There were two newcomers, and the second had grabbed him by the arm, spun him round, grabbed him by the belt and thrown him hard against the street-side wall. He hit it head-first with a sickening crack, dropped his knife and collapsed in a huddle on the pavement. It was suddenly very quiet.

I straightened. Yeah, well, maybe someone up there did have time for half-assed purple-stripers after all. It’d been a close thing, though.

‘You okay, friend?’ The first guy — the guy with the stick — was coming over.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. More or less.’

‘Let’s look at that arm.’ Before I could say anything, he’d pulled back the tunic sleeve and was examining the cut. It hurt like hell and there was a lot of blood, but even I could see that it was only a flesh wound. ‘Just a scratch. Caught you with the edge on the upswing. You’ll live.’

‘Seems like it, thanks to you, pal,’ I said. ‘Good thing you came along. They had me cold there.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He was a big lad, late thirties, with arms like a blacksmith’s. The first mugger had been lucky to get off with a busted rib and a cracked skull. ‘Any time.’

‘This one’s had it, Sextus.’

I glanced across. His mate was kneeling beside the second knifeman. Right: I could see that for myself. The chances of anyone with a head that shape still being a viable commodity were zilch.

The first guy grunted. ‘See me weep,’ he said. ‘Leave the bastard for the Watch.’ He turned back to me. ‘Bloody stupid, that, wasn’t it, sir? You often do your shopping after dark?’

I grinned. ‘No. And you’re right, it was bloody stupid.’

‘So long as we’re agreed.’ There was no answering grin. ‘Don’t do it again’s my advice. You be more careful next time. Now. Quintus and me’ll see you as far as the chair rank at Public Incline. You won’t have no more trouble, I’ll guarantee that.’

‘Fine by me.’

‘Let’s be going, then.’ He turned and walked off.

‘Sextus and Quintus, eh?’ I said, falling in beside him while his mate brought up the rear. ‘Anything tacked onto the blunt ends?’

The pause was hardly noticeable, but it was there. ‘Sextus Aponius and Quintus Pettius,’ he said.

‘Pleased to meet you. Marcus Corvinus. It was lucky you came along when you did. You live locally?’

‘More or less. Near Pottery Mountain. We were on our way home. Got a stonemason’s yard up by the Trigemina Gate.’

Well, that explained the muscles. The other guy wasn’t any midget, either. ‘You work late. Not that I’m complaining, mind.’

‘Had to wait for a delivery. How’s that arm?’

‘It’ll do.’ I’d been pressing my hand over it to keep the cut closed, and if the bleeding hadn’t actually stopped I wasn’t in danger of draining away any more. ‘So I’m taking you back in the wrong direction?’

‘Look, sir, I told you, no problem, right? Quintus and me, we enjoyed the workout. That right, Quintus?’ He glanced back.

‘Yeah.’ Obviously a man of few words, Aponius’s mate, but with biceps like these he was doing okay. When he’d hit the wall that second mugger had been flying. No wonder his skull had smashed like an eggshell.

We walked on in silence. Finally I could see the torches ahead that marked the small square where the litter rank was. Journey’s end. I reached into my purse. ‘Thanks a lot, friends. Have a drink on me, next time you’re out. And if you let me know more exactly where this yard of yours is — ’

‘Nah. Keep your money for the chair,’ Aponius said. ‘Our pleasure. Just be more careful next time, like I said. See you around, Corvinus.’

And they nodded and walked off, back the way we’d come.

I took the first litter, gave the guys the address, and settled back, trying not to bleed on the cushions.

Interesting, that. One or two aspects of it in particular…

Theorising and contemplation, though, could wait. First I’d have to think what I was going to tell Perilla, because when she saw the state I was in she would hit the roof.